Penumbra: Missing Scenes: 8- Betwixt and Between
by A. Farnese
Summary: Missing scenes from the Penumbra series, in no particular order. 8- 'Betwixt and Between'- Merlin is home again and healing, but he still feels lost and hopeless. With Leon's help, though, he may begin to find his way in the darkness. Set toward the end of 'The Wind in the Trees'.
1. Chapter 1 - Safe

_A/N: I just can't stop writing, even when I'm nose deep in another project! Well, my craziness is your gain, I suppose. So. Some of these are by request, and some are scenes I've had in mind for a while. I'm not going to put them in any particular order, since I'm not going to be writing them in any particular order. Themes will range all over the place, from humor to drama to family and friendship to... whatever pops into my ridiculous head. Enjoy!_

_As usual, 'Merlin' is not mine, nor are the characters, no money made, etc., etc.._

_"Safe" takes place between the stories "Nightfall in Winter" and "The Wind in the Trees", a few days after Arthur and the company have brought Merlin home from Blackheath._

* * *

They had left him alone with the sorcerer. First Guinevere had been summoned to help the Lady Drusilla with some womanly matter, then Gaius was called away to aide in a difficult birth, and there was no one to summon on such short notice to sit with the sorcerer. King Arthur's orders were clear- he was not to be left alone. Even if he was just sleeping.

Gareth fidgeted at the edge of his chair, his wayward gaze sliding toward the screen separating the sorcerer's bed from the rest of the room. Though Gaius had assured him Merlin was deep in a drugged sleep and likely wouldn't awaken until late afternoon, the notion of being within arm's reach of a sorcerer rested uneasily under Gareth's skin, like a gnawing itch that couldn't be scratched.

He'd grown up hearing of the evils of sorcery, how a High Priestess had murdered the Queen of Camelot, and how sorcerers and witches sacrificed babies to their pagan gods, dancing naked around fires while drinking the blood of goats. He'd seen one witch's execution, condemned, they'd said, for blighting the fields around her village. The Sarrum'd had built a small pyre built for her, and his men had placed bets on how long it would take her to die. The woman's screams had echoed in Gareth's nightmares for a long time.

There was a cough from beyond the screen, and the rustling of cloth. Gareth held still, waiting for the sorcerer awaken, but as the minutes passed it was apparent that he wouldn't. Gareth let out a shaky breath and got to his feet. He wandered, taking in the rows and stacks of books- more than he'd ever seen in one place before, and he hadn't even been to the library yet. Curious fingers brushed over the glassware on the workbench and the shelves filled with jars and vials of herbs and potions, each neatly labeled and arranged in chaotic fashion. He breezed past the window seat, his feet taking him to the brief stairway and into the next room before he realized where he was going. '_This is His room. The sorcerer's room…"_

The door swung open with a faint squeak. The room itself was not what he expected. He'd thought there would be something…more than this- a few pieces of simple furniture, some brightly colored blankets on the narrow bed, and a handful of graceful drawings tacked to the wall. He'd thought there would be ominous books filled with arcane marks, silver chalices, and a bloody great bird lurking on a gnarled perch. Not a tome of herbal lore and single candle on the bedside table. The only bird he'd seen in these rooms was a puffball of an addlepated owl that flitted about like it owned the place, getting in everyone's way until Guinevere tossed it outside.

Gareth put the room behind him and closed the door. He padded toward the table and caught his sleeve on a bit of glassware. It fell over with a clatter, rattling toward the edge of the workbench. But youth lent a person quick reflexes, and Gareth caught it before it could crash to the floor.

"Who's there?" A voice rasped. Wide-eyed, Gareth looked toward the screen. "Gaius? Gwen?"

Gareth set the jar upright. He meant to answer, but his voice caught. He'd never talked to a sorcerer before.

"I know someone's here." A fit of coughing broke out. Gareth edged toward the screen. "Please… Who's there?" there sorcerer asked. He sounded scared.

"I-" Gareth cleared his throat and peered around the edge of the screen. "I'm Gareth."

The sorcerer turned his head, his hooded eyes roving around, trying to focus on something. "Who?"

"G-Gareth, son of King Hywel of Amata.

"Amata?" The pale brow knit in confusion. "I thought… I thought we were home. In Camelot. Why… Why are we back in Amata? Arthur?" The blue eyes widened. He tried to push himself up and cried out when it jarred his injuries. His breathing quickened, too fast and turning to a wheeze. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow.

Gareth had heard Guinevere tell Arthur of attacks like these, when Merlin woke from a nightmare and, unable to see where he was, quickly panicked. It took time to calm him down, she had said, too much time. He had heard the fear in her voice when she told the king how worried she and Gaius were. '_He's too frail for this, Arthur,'_ she had said, "_This can't keep happening. Gaius is afraid his heart will give out, or that it will cause some other sickness he can't recover from. He's already so weak." _Gareth hadn't heard Arthur's murmured replies as he took the serving girl in his arms. He'd turned away from the strangeness of that particular sight. But he had to do something to calm the sorcerer. If he died, Arthur might blame him for it.

He shuddered at the thought and sank into the chair. "Can you-" he started, but his voice was too soft. He tried again. "Can you hear me?" The sorcerer's head turned toward the boy, his blind eyes staring past him. Gareth plucked up his courage, pitching his voice as though he were soothing a spooked horse. "You're safe. We're in Camelot, not Amata. We left that all behind well over a week ago. You're home now, and safe. Do you hear me?"

"Home? How?"

"Arthur defeated the Amatans. You-" Gareth stopped and licked his lips. '_You summoned a great fire when they tried to burn you.'' _he'd started to say. "You escaped. We brought you home. Now Gaius is taking care of you," he said instead. The sorcerer's hand, the good one, not the broken one, twitched against the blankets as though it was trying to pull them away, but lacked the strength to do it. The ends of one of the bandages had come loose, unwinding more with every move the sorcerer made. His breathing hadn't slowed.

Gareth looked toward the door, mentally begging for Guinevere, Gaius, or even Arthur, to appear, but none of them did. He was on his own. He swallowed, shoving his own trepidation away as he reached for Merlin's hand, gently wrapping his fingers around the sorcerer's. "Merlin," he said firmly, "We're safe. We made it to Camelot. Arthur brought us home, where we'd be safe. Do you hear me? We're safe. We're both safe." Tears pricked his eyes when he realized what he'd said. "_We're safe"_.

And it was true. In Amata, under the Sarrum's rule, Gareth had been subject to the old king's cruel whims. He'd borne the brunt of his temper more than once, been beaten until he couldn't stand at least half a dozen times. He had learned to cringe when the Sarrum looked his way, and to cower when the Sarrum raised his hand. The old king liked it when men were afraid of him. He'd said he liked best the scent of fear and the sound of a broken man's voice.

Gareth had expected the same from Arthur, but Camelot turned out to be a land of light and laughter. The people had rejoiced to see their king come home. And no one had raised a hand or voice to Gareth. His bruises healed, and for the first time in ages he'd awakened without pain in the morning. The knights treated him like an errant little brother, and the laides were kind to him. In Camelot, Gareth had found the very thing he had craved without knowing what it was he truly wanted- safety. A place to live without fear.

"You want the same that thing I do, don't you, Merlin?" he said softly. "You want to be safe. To live in a place where men don't hurt you without cause. I guess we're not as different as I thought." The sorcerer's rapid breathing began to slow, and he relaxed against the pillows. He gingerly raised Merlin's arm and re-wrapped it, carefully, as though he were keeping a sparrow from flying away. When he was done, he took Merlin's hand in his own again. "I heard you were a sorcerer, and I assumed terrible things about you. That was all I was told about sorcerers, so I thought it must be true. But I was wrong. I see that now. Arthur and Guinevere tell me of how kind you are, and of your courage and loyalty. You didn't deserve this. I am sorry for what my kinsman did to you. And I'm sorry I didn't try to stop them." He looked down at the floor, as though to his his tears from unseen watchers.

Merlin's hand tightened, ever so slightly, against his. "Gareth…" it was hardly more than a whisper. The boy looked up at the sorcerer. "'s not your fault… You couldn't've stopped it." The blind eyes fluttered and closed. "Don't blame…." Merlin's hand relaxed and his breathing evened out. He was sleeping peacefully now.

"Don't blame myself? I'll try. I'll try to be more understanding, too, just like I'll try to be more like Arthur. I'm going to try a lot of things while I'm here." He smiled, scooted his chair closer to the bedside, and did his best to straighten the blankets without letting go of Merlin. He gave up after a few futile attempts. The sorcerer seemed comfortable without his efforts, so he let it go, settling back to enjoy the warmth and the quiet. And the safety.


	2. Chapter 2 - Other Men's Sons

_A/N: This takes place toward the end of 'Nightfall in Winter', the night after Arthur and the others bring Merlin home from Blackheath._

* * *

It took effort to keep his hands from shaking. Only long years of experience kept him steady, and the fact that it was his own boy under his care. Gaius didn't want to cause him anymore pain. "_Merlin is not your son,"_ he reminded himself. But family wasn't always determined by blood. Maybe he hadn't raised Merlin from infancy, but he'd guided the boy through the intricacies of life in Uther's court, housed him, fed him, and taught him a trade. Merlin wasn't Gaius's trueborn son, but he was _his _boy. His broken boy.

His heart had quailed when Gwaine, white-faced and hollow-eyed, had come home before the others. "_I have bad news,_" he'd said, "_It's about Merlin." _Gaius had expected the worst, but when Gwaine finally relayed the tidings, the old healer wondered if death would have been better. Taken hostage, tortured, and burned alive. Merlin only lived because of an accident of Fate and a trio of Druids.

They had brought him home broken, in a sleep so deep nothing could rouse him. It was for the best. Simply bringing him to the physician's chambers and putting him to bed would have been unbearable, had Merlin been aware of it. It was better this way, better that he sleep through the agony. The humiliation. Wounds always needed cleaning and tending, and Merlin's injuries ran the length of his body. He was always such a private young man, never wanting anyone to see the scars he carried or know the pain he had endured. Yes, it was better that his boy was asleep for this.

Gaius had thought to summon Blaise for this task, or Stilicho. He shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when Arthur volunteered, shooing the others away and locking the door behind them. "_Some blame for this rests at my feet," _the king had said, "_He's my servant. My friend. I won't shirk my responsibilities to him just because it's uncomfortable. I owe him at least that much."_

And so it was Arthur who cradled Merlin as Gaius peeled the old bandages off Merlin's back. It was Arthur who shushed the younger man as Gaius swabbed the cuts and burns clean. There were unshed tears in the king's eyes when the last bandage came away. The physician had to admit his own despair, if only to himself. His boys were suffering, and there was nothing he could to do alleviate it.

"_My boys?"_ Gaius wondered. "_Yes. Mine." _

They might have been other men's sons, but they were his boys all the same. He had loved them from the first- the first time he had looked into newborn Arthur's eyes, and from the first letter Hunith sent to announce Merlin's birth a few years later, and never mind the distance between them. Where their fathers had been absent or neglectful, Gaius was always there to soothe their hurts and their hearts, guiding them through the rough waters between childhood and maturity.

There were days Gaius wanted to howl curses at the world for not loving his boys enough. Hadn't they paid their dues and given everything they could in pursuit of a better world? Perhaps he was growing naive in his old age, thinking that Fate responded to sacrifices the way the gods had of old. He sighed and dipped the cloth back into the pink-tinged water, squeezing it out over Merlin's back, letting it dribble down the fevered skin before swabbing the slashes there. Merlin moaned faintly.

"Shhh. You're all right. We're home now. It's just Gaius," Arthur whispered into his servant's ear. "You're safe." The king closed his eyes, his thumb tracing slow circles over Merlin's hair.

A faint smile warmed Gaius's face. If he had declared these two to be his sons, then they had made brothers of each other. Like night and day, they were, each filling in the gaps the other was missing. Between them, love and forgiveness seemed unconditional.

"Gaius?" Arthur sounded terribly young.

"Yes, sire?"

"Do you think he'll be all right? Blaise has tended him ever since…" The king couldn't bring himself to say the rest. "But he hasn't woken up at all and he hardly reacts to anything. What if he never wakes up?"

"I won't lie to you, Arthur," Gaius replied, "Merlin's injuries are grievous, and it will take a long time for them to heal. But he is stronger than people think he is. Barring a worsening of his fever or some other complication, I don't see any reason why he couldn't make a full recovery."

Arthur nodded and fell silent, letting Gaius get on with his work. The old physician smiled again, faintly. If this night was any indication, it would take some act of the gods to keep Merlin from recovering. That wouldn't happen if Arthur had any say.

"_No, he wouldn't let anyone hurt his little brother. Now now, not ever." _He hadn't meant to build a family when he was given charge of other men's sons, but build it he had, as strange and cobbled-together as it was. Blood wasn't the only bond that tied a family together.


	3. Chapter 3 - Of Shadows and Light

_A/N: This takes place at the end of "What's a Heaven For?", and__ isn't so much of a missing scene as it is a scene presented from a slightly different point of view. By request from Ms. Fairweather. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

"My little sister," Elyan began, "is . . . My little sister. My little sister is Queen of Camelot. My. Little. Sister. Queen Guinevere." Elyan buried his face in his hands. "I used to rub leaves in her hair."

Lancelot laughed with the others, but when it trailed off, he wiped the smile from his face. It felt too disappointed, too bitter, even, to be a real smile. The others were ignoring him anyway, too wrapped up in their own celebrations to notice him hovering in the shadows, pondering the what-might-have-beens the day had swept away. _Queen Guinevere_. In another world, she might have become his wife, been called Lady instead of Queen, but now… "_Don't think on it anymore. You had your chance to stay and win her heart. You chose to go, to not come between them. Leave the past in the past_." He couldn't blame Guinevere for choosing Arthur. What woman wouldn't choose King Arthur, the best of men, over a scruffy knight from across the sea?

He banished the gloomy thoughts and turned his attentions elsewhere, to Merlin, who also lurked in the shadows. He did that so often of late, as though the darkness he saw had manifested, turning to a cloak of melancholy shadow that wrapped around him always. There were days the sorcerer seemed less human and more ethereal, as though he belonged to the realm of the fae creatures from Under the Hill, or to the old gods. Right now, though, Merlin looked like a mere mortal, sprawled out in Lancelot's only comfortable chair with Cabal at his side. His fingertips were pressed to his temples, and his face was pinched with pain. "Are you all right?" Lancelot asked and he settled into a borrowed chair.

Merlin turned his head toward the knight and gave him a wan smile. The shadows shifted, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. "I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long day."

Lancelot smirked. He'd expected that answer. "It has been long, hasn't it? But a good day on, on the whole," he said, playing along with the notion that it was the day's excitement causing Merlin's headache, and not a lingering effect of his old injuries. Lancelot grabbed the pitcher from his bedside table and poured a cup of water, setting it back with a quiet _thunk_. "There's some water if you want it. Or do you just want to get away from this noisy lot and get some sleep?"

"No, I like the company. Besides. Gaius went to bed ages ago, and he snores. I'm fine where I am. If I fall asleep in my chair, just poke me with a stick in the morning and tell me to go away," Merlin said. He took a long breath and dropped his hand on Cabal's head, absently scratching the hound's ears. "You don't have to play nursemaid, you know. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're always trying to convince me of that," Lancelot said. "It hasn't quite worked yet. And anyway. It's quieter over here. None of them wants to bother you and risk getting turned into a toad."

That prompted the smile he was looking for. "I wouldn't turn them into toads," Merlin protested. "Not for long, anyway. Arthur would insist I go and find replacements, and Guinevere would be upset that her brother was all bumpy and greenish. I don't want to hear from an upset Guinevere."

Indeed not. Lancelot grinned. "And I appreciate the fact that you're not going to fill my room with toads. I'll be right back." He had a headache remedy in the cabinet across the room. If Merlin wouldn't go to find rest elsewhere, then the least he could do was to offer some sort of aid. He brushed past the others on the way over to the cabinets, quickly shuffling through their contents before he found the little bottle of powdered white willow bark. Gaius had given it to him last week, after Arthur unhorsed him in the final round of jousting. He hadn't blacked out when he hit the ground but his ears rang for a long time after, and the headaches came and went for another two days.

When he looked back, bottle in hand, Merlin was reaching toward a candle, his fingers less than a handsbreadth from the little flame. Curiosity lit his face, turning to bright glee even as he jerked his hand away from the candle. His eyes were fixed in front of him as he reached toward the light again.

"Careful there, Merlin. You'll burn yourself on that candle." Gwaine was unsteady on his feet as he crossed the short distance from the table to the chair across from Merlin, but his eyes were clear and as filled with concern as Lancelot's own must have been. "_Is something wrong?" _The other knight mouthed. Lancelot shrugged.

"I'm fine," Merlin whispered, "I'm definitely fine." As often as they'd heard that refrain, though, it was difficult to believe him. Especially when his eyes were fever-bright, as though he'd seen his gods in the candlelight. Lancelot had seen such expressions before, in the eyes of the mendicant priests he'd come across in his wanderings. Such fervent men were never comfortable to be around.

"It's just a candle, Merlin. That's all," Gwaine said gently as he dropped into the empty chair before Lancelot could.

"It's the best candle in the world, Gwaine."

"I'll bite," Lancelot said. "Why is the best candle in the world?" The others had stopped talking and were gathering around, drawn by the wariness in Lancelot's stance.

A brilliant smile spread across Merlin's face, shining as brightly as any summer dawn. "It's the best candle in the world because I can see it." His laughter was giddy, filled with a near-forgotten joy. "I can see it," he whispered again, tears shining in his eyes as they focused -focused!- on the candle.

"You're sure? It's not…" Lancelot trailed off. '_It's not your mind playing tricks on you, is it?' _He'd almost said. Behind him, the others whispered to each other excitedly, grabbing onto the hope that the sorcerer might be fully healed at last. It was tempting, so tempting to reach for it, too, but frightening as well. What if it was just his imagination?"

"I'm sure," Merlin said. "I haven't completely forgotten what light is."

"No. Of course not," Lancelot whispered. The pieces clicked into place as he thought back over the day, how Merlin had winced when the afternoon sun flared through the windows of the great hall, and his glassy gaze kept lighting, sparrow-like, on the candelabras and their collections of candles. His headache, it would seem, had come not from being overtired, but from the effort of long unused eyes trying to focus for the first time in half a year. A slow smile spread across Lancelot's face as he knelt at Merlin's side and rested a hand on the sorcerer's arm. "Should I get Gaius? Or… anyone?"

"No," Merlin smiled, glancing toward him, then back at the candle, as though he'd be content to spend a lifetime staring at the little flame. "No, don't get anyone. It's fine. Everything's fine. Of course it's fine. It may just be a lighter bit of gray, but it's there. I can see."


	4. Chapter 4 - Strange Winds

_A/N: This one is by request from Staymagical, because she likes mayhem. :-)_

_It takes place during "In the Wind" in chapter 5, just before Merlin's disappearance._

* * *

He had tried to lead them astray. From the first set of tracks to the last, Leon had done everything he could to coax the hunters off Merlin's trail. It had seemed like an easy job at first, given the multiplicity of tracks the sorcerer had left behind, but once the dogs caught the sorcerer's scent, there was no stopping them. The water only delayed them, and the heavy threat of a storm pushed Pynell to work harder and drive the horses faster.

"There! He's there!" one of the huntsmen shouted.

Leon yanked back on his horse's reins to keep from trampling one the dog handlers. He wished was been riding by Pynell just now, to run his own horse against the other man's, throw him to the ground and break something- the longbow he had to hand, or a leg. A dark wish, but he wished it all the same.

Merlin looked back at them. Leon wanted to scream at him to run, to stop looking back and keep moving forward, but it was too late. Pynell's bow sang out, nearly lost in the noise of the dogs. Leon held his breath and prayed- for a sudden breeze to blow the arrow off its course, for Merlin to dodge it, for the arrow to suddenly disappear into nothing, but his prayers went unanswered. The arrow hit home. Merlin jerked, then collapsed over the edge.

"_No….."_

Strange, how things had changed. A few months ago, Leon might have joined in a hunt for a sorcerer. He would have thought it his duty to rid Camelot of yet another undesirable presence. It was what he had always been taught, that magic was tainted thing, spreading its darkness over the land like a plague of locusts. Then Merlin revealed his powers to save all their lives, and suddenly "evil sorcery" wore a friendly face. "Evil" had a loyal, forgiving heart. The issue was no longer painted in black and white, but with the grays of all the shadows Merlin had ever hidden himself within.

Leon was the first to reach the ridge's edge, squinting through the dust to find Merlin. A spot of blue against the gray rocks led Leon's gaze to the fallen sorcerer. He lay halfway down the ridge, one arm moving feebly.

"Damn it all. The bastard's still alive," Pynell snarled. He yanked another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and drew the bowstring back. A motionless target gave him the luxury of time.

Leon watched him, waited for the slow intake of breath before Pynell released the bowstring, then "slipped" on the rocky edge, brushing the bow enough to knock the arrow off its intended course. But was it far enough? Breathless, Leon peered over the edge. Merlin's hand moved, the faintest flicker of motion, and the arrow tumbled away, skittering across the rocks until it was lost.

Pynell howled his disbelief. "Set the hounds on the bastard! We'll see if he can keep his tricks going when they're tearing his throat out!"

A hound brushed past Leon. He reached for it, his fingers just missing its collar as it plunged over the edge and staggered downward, kicking up dust along with its packmates until he couldn't see Merlin. "_God… what will I tell Arthur?"_ Would he tell his prince that the kind, clever, servant-turned-friend-turned-sorcerer had been torn apart by dogs? That he, a knight of Camelot, had stood by and watched an innocent man die? Leon stumbled over the edge before he realized he'd moved, half-running and half-falling down the ridge, determined to stop the dogs from killing Merlin, and damn the consequences. They wouldn't murder the boy in front of him. Not if he could help it.

Then a rain-soaked breeze washed over him, like the first breath of spring after a long winter. He gasped at its strangeness, welcoming the cool, wet air until breeze turned to wind. It felt angry somehow, as though he, a knight of Camelot, had done something so offensive that even nature was calling him out. Perhaps he had. Leon raised a hand to his brow as the wind picked up speed, buffeting the knight with a blast of dust and debris. He closed his eyes, listening for the sick, triumphant baying of the hounds.

It never came. The wind died as quickly as it had risen, and where Merlin had been, there was only bare earth and a patch of red, darkening as it soaked into the parched ground.

Leon bit back a laugh. Sorcery. It had to have been sorcery that spirited Merlin away, leaving the dogs bereft of their quarry, and Pynell without a body to add to his tally of kills. "_Thank you. Whoever's up there listening, thank you. Now keep him safe, would you?"_ Leon sent the silent prayer up to the skies and to whatever friendly spirits might be listening.

A medley of curses erupted behind him. Leon didn't need to look back to know it was Pynell, his cultured voice thick with hate. The knight's lips twisted in disgust. To think that he had once admired this man… His fingers brushed over something sharp. He palmed it, holding it up to the light to find an arrowhead smeared with drying blood. The shaft was broken a few inches up, likely snapped in Merlin's fall. Leon folded it into a scrap of cloth and tucked it into a belt pouch as Pynell called out orders to begin searching for the sorcerer. He allowed himself a faint smile as he joined them, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn't find Merlin. Not today, anyway. "_Come home when you're ready, Merlin. We'll clear the way for you." _


	5. Chapter 5 - Malleus Maleficarum

_A/N: This one takes place not long after 'The Wind in the Trees'. Quick note on the title- 'Malleus Maelificarum' was a 15th century German witch hunting manual, and is one of the more vile examples of Western writing. I didn't pick it as the title of this story for the witch hunting aspects, but because the title is generally translated as "Hammer of the Witches". In light of the setting and how the story goes, the title itself seemed appropriate, independent of the horrors of Kramer and Sprenger's text. Just wanted to clarify that. _

* * *

The hammer slammed home against the anvil, the force of it shivering up Elyan's arm and into his shoulder, ringing through his head like a bell. He brought the hammer up again, reveling in the stretch of muscle and bone, glad to finally be using his strength to accomplish something useful. He struck the lump of metal again, his mind's eye seeing a different fire in the iron's red glow, and he raised the hammer up once more, striking the metal again and again and again, as though he could stamp out the memory with a hammerstrike, repeating the motion over and over, sending sparks flying, until a stronger hand caught his arm on the upswing.

"Elyan! Stop." Percival held his arm in place until Elyan blinked up at him, his breathing slowing. "You've destroyed it. No need to wreck the hammer, too. Or yourself."

Elyan looked down at the flattened lump on the anvil. It was well and truly wrecked, blackened and cracked, melted and beaten into a useless shape, never to be used for anything again. "_Destroy this,_" Arthur had told him when he handed Elyan the bag with three slender, curving bits of iron. It had taken a moment for him to realize what it was- the collar that had been around Merlin's neck, keeping him from his magic.

He lowered the hammer and set it aside, shrugging off Percival's hand as he stepped over to the bucket of water by the far wall. He splashed some over his face to wash away the soot and the sweat, then took a long drink. The water was cold and fresh, with bits of ice floating in it. Percival must have brought it in with him. "I still hear him screaming in my dreams. Nightmares. I'll never forget it." Elyan shivered. "I can see his face, how he looked when they brought them out to-" he couldn't finish, and shook his head. "I hardly recognized him. Why? Why do that? What purpose did it serve?"

"It didn't," Percival answered simply. "They didn't do it to serve any purpose. Evil men don't need a reason to be cruel. If they did, Merlin might be whole right now, and I'd still have my family. What we have to do is keep them at bay, keep them from hurting innocent people." He reached for a set of tongs and took the cooling lump of metal from the anvil and regarded it for a while. "We'll toss this in a river next time we're out on patrol. Someday, it'll turn to rust and there will be nothing left of it."

"And what do we do in the meantime?" Elyan asked.

Percival put the iron lump down and put the tongs away. "In the meantime? We follow Arthur, and someday Morgana will try something like this again. When that happens, we'll make her pay. For what she did to Merlin, and for everything else she's done. We swore an oath to keep Camelot safe, and that's what we're going to do. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Elyan clasped Percival's hand, binding their oath as well as anything. "Someday, we'll repay Morgana for everything she's done."


	6. Chapter 6 - Morning Light

_A/N: This is set during the early chapters of 'The Wind in the Trees', after Arthur give Cabal to Merlin, but before Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival return from Ealdor._

* * *

"You awake, mate?"

"Hmm?" Merlin turned his head toward the knight from his nest of blankets in the window seat. His eyes fluttered open, their unfocused gaze directed at the wall behind Gwaine. "Yeah. I'm awake. It's warm here in the sunlight. It's nice." He smiled sweetly. Gwaine couldn't help but grin. When was the last time he had seen Merlin smile? These days, the sorcerer's moods were as stormy as winter's weather, cold and temperamental, with far too little sunlight to warm the air.

'_I suppose I should be glad he's not using his magic these days.'_ Though the idea of Merlin being a sorcerer was as natural as breathing now, the thought of his lashing out in one of his darker moods was chilling. The burning courtyard of Blackheath was not so easily forgotten. '_He would never hurt us. Not even when he's feeling his lowest.' _Even in his foulest moods, Merlin had only ever struck out with insults. Though with Merlin's wit and way with words, that felt like enough to flay a man. But there would be none of that today. Today, there would be sunshine, warmth, and rare smiles. Gwaine would make sure of it. "Do you want anything? Something to eat? Drink? A friendly girl?"

Merlin's smile widened at the last. "No, I'm fine. Leave the girls alone."

"You're sure? I know an adventurous girl who works down at the Rising Sun. Pretty little thing, she is. Big brown eyes, lips like rosebuds." Gwaine winked at the raised eyebrow Gaius gave him from across the room. "Her name's Lark, and her voice lives up to it. I could run down there and see if she has the night off…"

"No. Leave poor Lark alone. I'm sure she has enough on her plate without you bothering her." Merlin relaxed into the blankets, one shaking hand scratching Cabal's ears. Sighing, the hound leaned into the sorcerer's touch, and both man and dog seemed greatly comforted by it. Gwaine had to admit it- Arthur had been right about bringing the hound up from the kennels. Maybe Cabal couldn't guide Merlin around like the dogs of the stories, but he could give the sorcerer the consolation and attention he needed. Unlike men, dogs knew nothing of guilt or pity. Perhaps that was why Merlin had always been so relaxed around animals. Men might think the beasts of the earth were lowly creatures, but animals neither hated nor judged. They never condemned their own kind for being different. Murder only fell within the purview of Men.

"Are you sure there's nothing you want? Name it. Apple tarts? Honey wine?" Gwaine asked. Gaius shot him another disapproving look. Probably, the physician didn't want to mix wine with whatever pain draughts he was giving Merlin. "Name it. I'll go and get it."

Merlin opened his mouth, paused, and closed it. A faint blush rose in his ashen cheeks. "There's one thing, I suppose," he muttered, as though embarrassed by whatever it was.

"What is it?" Gwaine grinned, wondering if Merlin had any idea that he could ask for the world right now, and they would bring it and the moon to him on a silver platter if they could.

"It's just… a book. Gwen was reading it for me. She didn't have a chance to finish, and…" His fingers twitched in Cabal's fur.

"And you want to find out what happens?" Gwaine asked. Merlin nodded. "Well. That's easily accomplished. And here I thought you were wanting me to go and find Mistress Lark after all. All right, then. Where is this book?"

Merlin waved toward his room. "In there, I think. I don't know where Gwen left it."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find," Gwaine said lightly, the smile fading from his face. Once, Merlin would have known exactly where the book was, could have gone himself to find it. Could have read it himself. Gwaine had lost count of how many times he'd found Merlin in the library last autumn, when the populace had taken a turn against him and driven him further into the shadows. Books had given him such a refuge, and now even that was taken away.

Gwaine dropped into one of the bedside chairs when he reached Merlin's room, looking around at the things they'd left behind while watching over him. Empty and half-empty potion bottles were lined up on the table next to a stack of fresh bedding, neatly folded. A basket of fabric and spindles of thread sat next to the bedside table, and the bed itself was rumpled and half-covered with pillows to keep Merlin propped up, take the weight off the healing burns on his back, and prevent his chest infection from getting worse. The two chairs weren't there for Merlin to sit in, and the lantern certainly wasn't there for the sorcerer's benefit.

Gwaine sighed. There were too many _things_ in this room, and too few of them were Merlin's. Never before had the knight met someone so content with so little, or who cared so much for others while asking for nothing in return. The man's selflessness was astounding, and all the rest of the world saw was the magic they hated so much. Gwaine blew out a frustrated breath and pushed to his feet. '_Someday, mate, you'll have every good thing you've earned. And you've earned a lot of good things.' _He grabbed the book from where it was tucked against the wall behind the new bedding and hurried back to the main room.

Merlin's eyes were closed when the knight returned, his breathing even. In the morning sun he looked almost well again, with the light bleaching away the shadows under his eyes and warming the pallor of his skin to something resembling healthy. It seemed a shame to wake him. '_But he wanted to hear the rest of the story...' _"Merlin? You awake?" Gwaine said softly. He refrained from touching him. He had learned it was best not to touch Merlin before he woke up completely, to give the sorcerer a chance to realize where he was. Figure out that he was home. That he was safe.

"Hmm..?" Merlin's brow knit. His eyes fluttered open, the sapphrine gaze glassy and distant. "What?"

"I found the book." Gwaine sat down across from him, his fingers finding the marker Guinevere had left behind. "Still want to hear it? Or do you want me to leave you alone so you can sleep?"

"I sleep too much these days. Go on. I want to hear the next part. I'll try to stay awake." Merlin smiled again and swiped at his eyes.

"I'll try not to bore you," Gwaine chuckled. "_The Dream of Maxen Wledig_? Is that where we're starting?" he stumbled through the unfamiliar syllables as best he could. He might have been nobly born, but his education wasn't as extensive as Merlin's.

"That's it," the sorcerer said as he snuggled deeper into the blankets, his sweet smile returning. "Now what's this dream all about?"

"I hope it's about an adventure. Or a romance. Or both. I could use a nice, adventurous story with a beautiful woman waiting for the hero at the end," Gwaine said as he settled back in his chair and wet his lips. "All right, then. Let's see what this Maxen was dreaming about. '_Maxen Wledig was emperor of Rome, and he was a comelier man, and a better and a wiser than any emperor that had been before him. And one day he had a council of kings, and he said to his friends, "I desire to go to-morrow to hunt…"'"_

* * *

_A/N: "The Dream of Maxen Wledig" is part of the Mabinogion, a collection of Welsh stories that draw upon pre-Christian Celtic mythology, and are a source for many early Arthurian stories._


	7. Chapter 7 - Between Two Trees

_A/N: This story takes place between 'Nightingale' and 'What's a Heaven For?'._

* * *

"What was she like?"

Lancelot's voice startled Arthur from his idle maunderings. "What?"

"Merlin's mother. I never had the chance to meet her. What was she like?" the knight repeated.

Arthur looked away to where the sorcerer knelt with his head bowed, both hands pressed to the ground at his sides. On his left, there was a grassy mound with a slender young oak tree growing at one end. To his right, a freshly dug grave sent the dusty odor of old leaves into the early spring morning. "She was the kindest person I've ever met," Arthur said softly. "We went to Ealdor once, to drive away some bandits. Hunith offered us everything she had- food, shelter. The best spot by the fire at night." '_Her only child…'_ "After we chased the bandits off, Merlin wanted to stay to protect her. I could see it in his eyes. But she talked him out of it. I can't imagine why. She had every reason to hate me, hate everything about Camelot. But when we left he was at my side. Where's he's been ever since."

"Why would she hate you?"

"Because knights from Camelot drove Merlin's father away." Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Because of my father's hatred, Merlin grew up a bastard. And Balinor never knew he had a son until it was almost too late." Hunith had watched her family be torn apart by men of Camelot, and then she had sent her magic-wielding son into the heart of Uther Pendragon's realm. For Arthur's sake. Her selflessness had been astounding. "And for her kindness, a Pendragon repaid her with fear and death."

"Morgana has much to answer for." Lancelot turned his attention back to Merlin knelt alone in the little clearing. They had ridden out the day before and made a quiet camp half a mile off, rising before the clouded dawn to dig the grave for the box holding the delicate tumble of Hunith's bones. Gaius intoned all the proper funeral rites, then they had all backed away, giving Merlin the time and space to mourn in his own way.

"You do realize," Lancelot said, "That for a long time, the fate of Camelot rested on the shoulders of an obscure peasant woman."

Arthur gave the knight a questioning look.

"You said Hunith was the kindest person you'd ever met. Well, who taught that quality to Merlin? If she had raised him to hate Camelot, things would be very different right now. If she had given in to a moment's bitterness, what would that have done to Merlin? And where would we be without him?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur gave him a sidelong look. "You're not wrong, and I know that."

"As long as you do." He smiled and looked back at Merlin. His head tilted, expression perplexed. Arthur turned to see what the matter was.

Nothing was wrong. Merlin hadn't collapsed, wasn't huddled over weeping, or anything of the sort. He had straightened, shoulders back, and his chin up. Through the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze, they heard him murmuring, soft words Arthur couldn't hear well enough to decipher. The others silenced their whispering.

A silvery light began to shine in the clearing. Pale motes appearing all around like evening will o' the wisp. Merlin lifted his hands above the graves, his fingers stretching wide over the soil. More light shone around him, the little motes gathering from everywhere, falling out of the trees and lifting out of the early grass to collect over the two little oak trees- the one marking Balinor's grave, and the smaller sapling Guinevere planted when they had dug Hunith's. The little lights spun around the two trees, whirling about like a flock of starlings, seeming to do nothing. Then Arthur looked closer. The smaller tree was growing. Slowly at first, then faster as the lights spun tighter around the slender trunk. Buds grew into twigs grew into thin branches sprouting vivid green leaves as the tree grew before their eyes. The lights whirled about the other tree, its branches stretching out to the other, even as the little sapling reached for it, first leaves and then branches twisting around each other's. The lights dispersed, spreading across the clearing and landing among the grasses and other trees, shimmering in the morning gloom until they winked out, one by one.

The oak saplings, finished with their rapid growth, stood tall and straight, their branches intertwined. In time they would grow together completely, joining the two lovers in death they way they were never allowed to in life, a memorial that would endure for centuries. Perhaps they would outlast the cold, stone monuments of kings in the catacombs of Camelot.

Guinevere rested her head against Arthur's shoulder. Her eyes were bright with tears, though a watery smile tugged at her lips. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss against her hair.

As the last of the lights winked out, Merlin bowed his head. Lancelot shifted, as though he were about to rush to the sorcerer's aide when Merlin stood. He kept his back to them, just breathing as the last wisps of fog drifted through the trees. For a moment, he looked like a forest spirit who might walk away into the old trees and disappear forever. Then he turned, and gold flashed in his eyes. He looked up at them- through them- with a weary smile before walking back, his steps marked with a faint limp. This time, Lancelot did move forward to help. "Well?" the knight asked.

Merlin's blind gaze turned back toward the clearing and its two trees. One mote of light remained, caught in the twining branches. "The Druids say that where there is love, there is only light. Now they'll have both sunlight and starlight." He closed his eyes, his expression crumbling before he drew in a long breath to calm himself.

"They'll have all the light they could have wanted," Arthur said. Merlin nodded and stood quietly for a time. Arthur wondered if he could feel everyone's eyes on him- his own and Guinevere's, the knights' and Gaius's. "And now?"

"Now?" Merlin's eyes opened. They were red, but his face was dry. "We've said all we needed to say, done all we needed to do. I think now… now we should give them peace and quiet. I think it's time to go home."

"All right." Arthur nodded to the others, motioning for them to go back and break camp.

After they'd gone, Guinevere took Merlin's hands between her own. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Aren't I always, eventually?" He smiled sadly. "I just wish . . . I wish."

"So do I," she said. The three of them stood together a while under the trees, listening to the whispering leaves and the brightening birdsong. A rock dove cooed above them and far away, a nightingale trilled.

Time passed. How much of it had gone was hard to guess under the clouds and forest eaves. The rattle of tack and armor announced the knights' return. "Are you ready?" Arthur asked. Merlin nodded, and he helped the sorcerer climb into the saddle. "Let's go then," he called to the others. His voice was loud enough to carry, but not enough to disturb the peace of the forest. Arthur let Lancelot lead the way home, waiting until Guinevere and Merlin had gone on before urging Canrith forward. He looked back at the graves one last time.

Where the last light had been, a vivid blue butterfly was perched in the entwined branches between the two trees.


	8. Chapter 8 - Betwixt and Between

If there were benefits to being a king's right-hand man in political matters, Leon had yet to find them. Thus far, his days had been full of meetings, negotiations, and endless debates that went precisely nowhere. But Arthur refused to give up on his self-appointed task, and so Leon wouldn't give up on it either, no matter how hopeless the cause seemed.

Right now, it seemed like pigs might fly before Arthur would get Uther's laws against magic repealed. They kept working on it anyway, though none of them could tell Merlin what they were doing.

"_Doesn't he deserve to know?"_ Gaius had asked.

"_He does," _Arthur had replied, _"But he doesn't deserve to have his heart broken again if we fail."_

Leon saw the logic in that well enough, even if he didn't care for the idea of leaving Merlin in the dark.

'_Well, that came out wrong.'_

He winced, even though he hadn't said it aloud. Merlin in the dark… Merlin captured and tortured. Merlin burned and blinded. It was a wonder the boy hadn't gone mad. If it had been Leon enduring such horrors, he was sure he would have flung himself from Camelot's highest tower by now. But Merlin still found the courage to wake up every morning and face the day. He was made of sterner stuff than most men Leon knew.

Down the corridor, someone coughed. It wasn't out of place down there in the old parts of the castle, but it was strange. Leon followed the sound, shielding his candle from cool drafts as he walked, finally finding a door hanging open a few inches. He heard rustling inside, and pushed it all the way open. The old hinges groaned in protest.

"Who's there?" Merlin sat in the middle of the room, one hand raised. He turned his head toward the door, his glassy eyes searching but unable to find anything.

"It's Leon," the knight said softly. "Are you alright?"

Merlin chuckled bitterly. "You're asking _me_ that?"

Leon couldn't help but laugh. "I guess that's not the smartest question I've ever asked." He stepped into the room, turning his gaze upward to where the candlelight danced across the arched ceiling and the worn carvings set into the walls. "I never expected to find you in a place like this."

"I don't even know where I am," Merlin said, a rueful smile on his lips. "I just wanted to get out and walk for a bit. I thought I knew the castle inside and out. I must have taken a wrong turn, though. So I stopped. It's quiet in here." Merlin dropped his hand onto Cabal's head, burying his shaking fingers in the dog's thick fur. "Where are we, anyway?"

"The old royal chapel," Leon said. He set his candle on the floor and sat down a pace or two from Merlin. It was dusty. He decided that, if there were more than just his small light and a sliver of moonlight coming in from a narrow window, he'd see that the ceiling was strung with cobwebs, and the carvings were softened by years of dust. "I doubt anyone's been in here since Uther had the new one built when I was boy."

"What was wrong with this one? Was it too peaceful for Uther's tastes?"

Leon chuckled. "They said Ygraine didn't like how dark it was, even on the brightest days. We're on the ground floor. There are only a few windows in here, and they're narrow. More like arrow slits, really. The stone's dark. The air doesn't move in the summer. Fill the place up with fifty or more of Camelot's finest nobles, then light a bunch of candles, and it gets so hot and stuffy it feels like you've been shut in a coffin."

"Death is cold," Merlin whispered, so quietly Leon wasn't sure he'd heard it right. The sorcerer cleared his throat and went on before Leon could ask him to repeat himself. "So the new chapel- the one that overlooks the courtyard- was built for Ygraine?"

"It was," Leon said. "Uther spared no expense." The new chapel was a masterpiece of carven stone and stained glass. The panes were a lacework of color set against their white sandstone background, and every column was inset with sconces for half a dozen or more candles each. It was a jewel in the crown of Camelot's architecture. "Ygraine never got to see it. It was finished just a few days before she died. Arthur was christened there, though. I remember that day and how bright the room was. Especially since everyone was dressed in black to mourn the queen. I can't recall if Uther was there or not."

"Probably not. He was…" Merlin trailed off, lips pursed and hands curling into fists in his lap. There was more venom in those few words than Leon had ever heard out of Merlin in the years he'd known the sorcerer. He was shaking with the effort of keeping everything bottled up.

"You can speak your mind, you know," Leon said. "God knows I have no room to judge you."

Merlin grimaced and lowered his chin to his chest, burying his fingers in Cabal's fur again. The dog whined and beat his tail against the stone floor, the sound echoing like distant drum beats in dark forests. "I've spent my entire life holding my tongue. It's not an easy habit to break."

"No, I suppose not."

Merlin's shoulders sagged and his ragged breathing slowed until Leon thought he had fallen asleep. "Was she a good woman?" he asked suddenly, his voice quiet and strained.

"Ygraine?" Leon asked. Merlin nodded. "Why do you want to know?"

"Uther spilled so much blood in her name," he whispered. "And I don't even know if she was kind and generous, or if she was spoiled and vain. He claimed that he loved her more than his own life, but… He bought Arthur's life with hers, and he blamed all of magic for it. So many of my people were slaughtered for Uther's vengeance, and I don't know what kind of person she was. What was it all for?" Merlin looked up, his blind gaze still searching through the darkness.

"She…" Leon's voice failed him. It was a deeper, farther reaching question than he had ever expected, and he didn't have the means to answer it. Perhaps no one did. But Merlin had earned even the useless answers Leon could provide. "I was very young when she died- not quite eight years old. I only saw her a few times, but I remember her laughter. When she laughed, you wanted to laugh, too, it was so contagious. My father said she was generous to a fault, and never had a harsh word for anyone. But even if she'd been an angel sent from Heaven, it wouldn't have justified the Purge."

"No," Merlin breathed. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he hastily wiped them away. Leon pretended not to notice.

"May I ask you something?" Leon said after a while.

"What?"

He chose his words carefully. "After you revealed your magic, and Arthur sent you away, why did you come back? Wouldn't you have been happier among the Druids?"

Merlin looked away from Leon, a wistful look passing across his face. "I might have been, for a time. But my place isn't among them. I was always meant to be at Arthur's side."

"And yet the people of Camelot set you apart."

"Like a leper, yes," Merlin said bitterly. "You are a Knight of Camelot. You belong to the kingdom. But I was always Arthur's. For good or for ill, until the day I die. Though what use I am now is beyond me. I'm a servant who cannot serve in a kingdom where my every breath is a crime worthy of death. I can't even find my way around my own home. What good am I?"

Perhaps he hadn't meant to reveal it, but Leon had played at politics long enough to understand the drift of Merlin's thoughts. "Have you truly wished for death, then?"

Merlin bowed his head. "I have wished for it every day since I woke up."

"Please don't." Leon surprised himself with his quick response. "You would be greatly missed. By all of us. Especially by Arthur." Not enough time had passed for him to forget the devastation on the other knights' faces the night after the battle, when they had all believed they were waiting for Merlin to die. He would never forget Arthur's despair. "He refused to leave your side, you know. Blaise told us you wouldn't live through the night, and he just… It was like his world was about to crumble around him. Arthur was steady as a rock after his father died, but when you were dying, he fell apart."

Merlin was silent for a while. He didn't look up or smile or respond to Leon at all, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and the bitter lines in his face softened.

"You are worth more to Arthur than all the gold in Camelot," Leon said, "and he would have done anything to prevent what happened to you. But he couldn't sell half of his people to the Sarrum, knowing full well what he would to do them."

"I know," Merlin said. "But…"

Leon didn't need him to finish the sentence to know what he was saying, _'But it doesn't make the pain go away. It doesn't make me any less useless.' _He looked away, gazing over the stone saints and angels and the rough hewn stone that made the older parts of the castle so different from the newer areas. When he was a boy, he would run his fingers along the walls where the old walls met the new ones. After a while, he'd grown so accustomed to where the changes happened in relation to the castle's rooms, he figured he could navigate it with his eyes closed.

'_I could find my way around with my eyes closed."_

Leon smiled. "Can I show you something?".

"You can try," Merlin said. There was a faint spark of his old humor back in his voice. A tiny one. But it was there.

"You're going to have to get yourself up and come with me, then," Leon said as he rose and offered Merlin a hand. The sorcerer took it, though Leon did more of the work of pulling him upright, wincing at the pained grimaces that accompanied Merlin's efforts to merely stand up. "Are you ready?" Leon asked when Merlin had caught his breath.

"As I'll ever be," Merlin said, his hand light on Leon's arm. Cabal yawned and plodded along behind them.

"This is one of oldest parts of the castle," Leon said as he guided Merlin down the corridor and toward the stairway. "You can tell because of the stone. They must have been in a hurry when they built the first levels a few hundred years ago, because the walls are rough. But they're worn down in places, too. Usually it's middle of the stairs where people have gone up and down them for years and years, but the corners of the walls are worn, too. Mind your step."

They climbed the uneven old stairs slowly. Merlin had to feel his way up, finding the edge of each step with his feet and pausing halfway up to rest. Leon kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation about the castle, the materials that went into its building, and the reasons for its layout. Why the larger windows faced gardens and courtyards, while the outer walls had tiny windows, if they were there at all. There was a method to his rambling, and by the way Merlin tilted his head toward Leon, he guessed the sorcerer was listening.

"Here we are," Leon said when they reached the top of the stairs.

"And where is here?"

"At the point where the old castle meets the new," Leon said. "And where the servants' wing branches off toward the royal wing. Between here and there you'll find the library, a few storerooms, guest chambers, and the stairs up to Gaius's rooms. And yours." He led Merlin toward a particular point in the wall, took his hand, and pressed Merlin's fingers against the stone. "Now trace your hand forward along the wall. You should feel the difference."

Merlin stepped away from Leon, fingertips trailing along the wall. He paused, flattening his palm against the stone. The brace on his arm creaked with a quiet protest. "It's newer. They were more careful when they built it. There was more time for their craft." The faintest glimmer of gold shone in his eyes, and he almost smiled. "These stones are more forgetful, too."

"I have no idea what that means," Leon said. Sometimes Merlin made perfect sense. And then there were times where his words strayed beyond any realm than Leon was comfortable with contemplating. "But if it helps _you_ sort out which way is up, then I suppose it doesn't matter if I understand it or not."

"Perhaps not," Merlin said. He turned, put his back to the wall, and sighed. If he didn't know any better, Leon would have thought he was staring out the window, watching the clouds scuttle across the sky. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think there's a place here for me now?"

Leon studied him for a moment. Was this doubt a new thing? Or had it been hiding under the surface all this time, only to be revealed like bone when flesh was burned away? "I think Arthur values your opinion above all others, Merlin. When he was a hot-headed brat of a prince, you were the one who pushed him along the path that made him the good man that he is now. I think you were the only one who could have done that. You said yourself that you're not really a part of the magical world, nor fully a part of this one. You walk between the worlds. It gives you a unique perspective."

"Like a voice crying out in the wilderness?" Merlin quoted, a faint smile on his lips.

"Maybe something like that," Leon laughed. "So you _were_ paying attention all those times you had to attend Mass."

"Something had to soak in eventually," Merlin said. He pushed away from the wall and stood straight, head tilting like he was listening for things quieter and deeper than knights and servants in a castle hallway. "I think I have my bearings again. And I'm sure you have more important things to do than follow me around."

He could have said yes, he did have important things to do. He'd been in the middle of a council meeting when Geoffrey sent him after a particular book in a lower storeroom. He was attending to the kingdom's business. But none of that seemed to matter right now, because Merlin was standing tall again, and the new light in his unseeing eyes had nothing to do with magic. "It's nothing that can't wait."

Merlin didn't seem fooled, but he was willing to let it pass. "You can make us some tea, then."

"You're trusting me not to make a mess of it?" Leon asked. Merlin shrugged. "All right, then. I'll make tea." They crossed the hall to the stairs. Leon didn't guide, and Merlin didn't need to be led. They were just two friends walking side by side.


End file.
